


Dawdling

by stereolightning (phalaenopsis)



Series: Teddy Lupin Stories [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Gen, petulance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalaenopsis/pseuds/stereolightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-telling of Little Red Riding Hood, kind of. Teddy Lupin is used to babysitting. And he doesn't take any crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawdling

The second stair from the bottom whinged as a small, socked foot pressed down on its ancient, bruised wood.

“Go back to bed, Lilu,” said Teddy, not looking up from his magazine.

The house at number twelve was dark and humming with the ceaseless drone of air conditioning spells. Outside, London was in the midst of the worst heat wave in a century. Lily's parents were out, and her brothers both at school.

“S'not fair,” she said. “I want to go to Hogwarts.”

“You've been,” Teddy said.

“As a _guest_. Not to _stay_.”

“Well, unless you're thinking of joining Dominique at Beauxbatons, you'll be going in two years, so I don't see what you're so upset about. Some of us are too old to go back, you know. Cast out of paradise. Think about _that_ the next time you're feeling sorry for yourself.”

She crept closer to where he perched in Harry's beat-up reclining chair. Its arms were wonderfully squashy, and the upholstery vomit-green and tweedy. Teddy liked tweed, and thick knobbly knits, and rough fabrics of all sorts. _Color_ was easy, for a Metamorphmagus. _Texture_ was not.

He finally looked up. She stood in front of him, short and freckly and sour-faced, in scarlet pyjamas. The prickliest of the Potter babes. “There's still cake in the kitchen,” she said.

“And?”

“Chocolate cake.”

“Failing to see your point.”

“Chocolate cake that Gran made, Teddy. Proper cake. Buttercream frosting.”

“No. Out of the question. You'll be up all night, careening about on a sugar high.”

“I'm already up.”

“Yes, and how will that look when your parents come home? They'll get rid of me and find somebody else to babysit you. Auntie Fleur, more than likely. And she'll probably try to paint your toenails, or _brush your hair._ ”

Her mouth shriveled into a red pucker of disgust. Girly hygiene – worse than death to Lily Potter. “Is it true you're working out how to be an Animagus?”

“Go to bed, Scheherazade,” he said.

“Only, if you are, I want to see,” she said, not moving from her spot on the carpet. “What animal, and things.”

“Give you three guesses what animal.”

“You _are,_ then. You _are_ doing it. I thought James was having me on.”

“Look, weeny witch, it's nearly midnight. Do you want me to tuck you in or something?”

“Blech. No. Only babies get tucked in.”

“What's wrong with babies?”

“Nothing's wrong with them. I'm not one.”

“You are a tiny little shrimp, though.”

“No, you're just a huge monstrous tall git.” She crossed her arms.

“Alright, wandless wonder, you can walk yourself up those stairs or I can carry you up them.”

“It's a wolf. Isn't it. That's what you're going to be, when you turn into an animal. Right? Not a werewolf. A regular wolf,” she said.

“It's not like I had any choice in the matter. The form sort of picks you. I did start with a rabbit, but it wouldn't stick.”

“Wicked.”

She sat down, cross-legged, in front of him, audaciously and non-verbally proclaiming her victory. This would not do. She was most certainly not allowed to camp there all night. Desperate measures were called for.

He put down his magazine. “If I show you now, will you go to bed and stay there?”

“Yes.”

“Swear to it.”

“Solemnly swear.” She held up one small, freckly hand in an abstract gesture of honor.

“All right, then,” he said, standing up.

He closed his eyes, pointed his wand at himself, and focused. It was different, changing into an animal. Different from just changing your nose. The animal had its own feelings, its own impulses, which, though not unmanageable, were an order of magnitude weirder than, say, the side effects of wearing a pig snout at the dinner table. In an odd way, though, he liked this form. He liked the wolf's alert senses, the unbelievable sense of smell, the vibration of sound waves through his whiskers.

He thought he might scare her, though, with his mouthful of teeth, so he sat down and wagged his tail like a dog. To his surprise, she burst out laughing. He did his best impression of incredulity, which he wasn't totally sure a lupine face could convey.

“Well, it is pretty good,” she said, in a world-weary tone, or anyway a nine-year-old's best impression of one. “But real wolves don't have bright purple ears, or orange spots on their tails.”

He sniffed disagreeably at her, and she laughed again.

“Yes, okay, you're working on it,” she said. She walked right up to him and patted him on the snout. Fearless. Then she put her face close to his, which would have been a very bad idea if he were a real wolf, or even a real dog. “It's because of your Dad.”

It wasn't a question.

He blinked at her.

“My, what big ears you have,” she said, pulling them and then scratching behind them. She pointed out a few more spots of wild, unintended color in his fur, and snickered. After a long moment, he changed back into himself.

“To bed with you, Little Red,” he said, picking her up and throwing her over her shoulder, and she laughed as he carried her up the stairs.


End file.
